Dre sat on the edge of the city rooftop, staring down at the world like a god in hiding. The skyline was quiet tonight, too quiet. Below, Lagos never truly slept — not the real Lagos. Not the one crawling with secrets.
He hadn't worn a hoodie today. For once, he didn't need the shadows to protect him. He was the shadow now.
A phone buzzed in his jacket.
Unknown Number.
He answered.
"Nice work at the docks," the voice said. Male. Smooth. Confident. Dangerous.
"But you're poking your nose in business that's older than your pain."
Dre didn't blink. "Who are you?"
"I'm a reminder. That you're not the only one in this city with a vendetta."
Click.
Gone.
He dropped the phone, crushed it beneath his boot.
---
Across town, in a dim-lit, neon bar pulsing with low Afrobeat, a girl in a leather jacket leaned over her glass of ice water. No alcohol. She never touched it. Her name was Zina — and she was watching Dre on the security footage like a hawk.
"He's changing," she muttered.
"Everyone does, eventually," replied Rafael, a tattooed ex-soldier beside her, sharpening a blade casually like it was a fidget toy.
Zina tapped her screen. "This boy's not just hunting. He's calculating. Learning."
"And getting closer," Rafael added. "To us."
---
Back in his hideout, Dre unraveled a document from his pocket. Project Specter. The same name from his mother's files. The reason they died. The reason he was born with a price on his head before he even had a name.
Emmanuel, his tech friend and once schoolmate, worked silently beside him.
"You're digging into military-grade networks," Emmanuel warned. "They're going to notice."
"I want them to," Dre said. "I need them to."
Emmanuel glanced at him. "And when they come?"
Dre loaded his pistol.
"I'll be ready."
---
A sudden knock echoed through the hideout. Emmanuel tensed.
Dre's hand hovered over the hidden blade in the drawer. One knock. Then two. Then silence.
He opened the door.
Standing there was a girl. 17 maybe. Her face bruised, eyes tired but burning with fire.
"I need your help," she said.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Mira. And they're going to kill me like they killed your mother."
Dre froze.
She knew.
---
Behind her, the street was quiet, but Dre could feel it. Watchers. Enemies. The web had grown wider than he imagined.
He opened the door fully. "Come in."
As she stepped into the room, Mira's gaze locked onto the files on the table.
"Project Specter," she whispered. "You found it too."
"You're part of it?" Dre asked.
"I was. I escaped."
---
Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, in a cold white lab, a man in a white coat monitored footage of Dre and Mira.
"Subject 09 has connected with Subject 14," the man said into a comm.
A deep voice responded.
"Prepare the retrieval team."